#fornication jackson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mybeautifulchristianjourney · 6 years ago

Text

Sensuality and Repentance

by John Jackson

"Lest there be any fornicator or profane person like Esau, who for one morsel of food sold his birthright. For you know that afterward, when he wanted to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no place for repentance, though he sought it diligently with tears." - Hebrews 12:16-17

We are not led by this history to treat of the efficacy of a death-bed repentance; it is the probability of death-bed repentance. There is no doubt that true penitence will obtain mercy at the last hour; [but] there is great doubt how far sorrow at the last hour is true penitence. We have every assurance that God will give pardon even to the latest repentance; but we have no assurance that He will give repentance to those who for a lifetime have refused to repent.

We are thus led nearer to the true lesson of the history before us, and a very solemn one it is -- that the tendency of sensuality indulged is to bring a late remorse, but to prevent a timely penitence; to cause suffering, perhaps, but not contrition; the sorrow of the world that works death, not godly sorrow which works repentance to salvation. There is not a word to show that, keenly though he felt his disappointment, Esau had any sense of his sin. It was his lost blessing which afflicted him, not his faithless self-indulgence. There was no Godward prayer for pardon in all that "great and exceeding bitter cry." The fruits show this. His sorrow inflamed him to hatred, and hatred gave him the heart of a murderer. His sin and its punishment alike led him further from God. "He found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears."

It will of course be necessary, as we pursue our subject, to bear in mind the distinction thus exemplified between "the sorrow of the world which works death, and godly sorrow which works repentance to salvation." The one sorrow [is] for sin's consequences, the other sorrow for sin's guilt; the one for having injured ourselves, the other for having offended God; the one for the disgrace, the worldly loss, the enfeebled body or the unquiet mind, the other for the loss of God's favor and the sense of alienation from Him; the one dreading His punishment, the other longing for the restoration of His love; the one satisfied with impunity, the other thirsting for holiness; the one barren in all but feeble resolutions, the other working a thorough change of the inner and outer life; the one the natural product of the unregenerate heart, the other the gift of God by the operation of the Holy Spirit; the one the remorse of Esau and of Judas, the other the repentance of David and of Peter.

Now the proposition before us is that the former of these, an ineffectual remorse, is the natural tendency of sensuality indulged, which at the same time tends to prevent the latter, a timely repentance unto salvation. And here first (for practical lessons require and justify plain words) let us clearly understand what we mean by sensuality. We mean, of course, the yielding to the grosser sins of the flesh, whether dared openly or indulged in secret -- adultery, fornication, and lasciviousness; intemperance and gluttonous excess, whether encouraged and, as the world thinks, excused by the genial license of society, or admitted, half-ashamed, in guilty solitude. We mean also the same sins transacted mentally in the chambers of the imagination, even though lack of opportunity, or shame, or timidity, or even some better motive, have restrained from the outward act. But we must include, besides, both those more reputable forms of self-indulgence which, stopping short of the excess which tarnishes character or injures health, are yet a daily slavery to appetite -- a habitual submission of the spirit to the flesh, and that negative self-indulgence which, resigned to what is thought innocent ease, never makes a sacrifice for another's sake or God's and will not be roused to an effort even for what is great and good. In all these cases, though in different degrees and with different shades of guilt, sensuality is the opposite to self-denial, and consequently to the following of Jesus and the service of God.

Now the soul knows this. The most reckless knows that intemperance and impurity outrage God's law. The most tranquil and respectable lover of self feels, at least at times, that he is living below the better instincts of his own being and at variance with the requirements of the Gospel. And hence, the first fatal effect of sensuality indulged is the overlaying and stifling conscience. Sometimes this is done with a strong hand, and the headlong sinner thrusts the monitor by as he rushes to indulgence. Sometimes it is effected more slowly, perhaps, but not less surely by the special pleading of a will determined to disobey. The sad consequence slowly, perhaps, but surely follows. The disregarded voice within is heard more rarely and feebly. The sense of evil is dulled and blunted. What shocked at first shocks no longer. It is endured, loved, craved after. The seared conscience grows callous to the touch of impurity, and its sensitive shrinkings and keen stings are felt no more to prompt the beginnings or to aid the struggles of repentance to salvation.

Together with this process is going on another no less perilous -- the gradual strengthening of the passions and appetites. This is a fact of common experience. This wretched bondage is the tendency of each single act of unlawful self-indulgence, which drives another rivet into habit's chain and feeds the imperceptible but certain growth of a gigantic power of evil. And it is a tendency, be it observed, arising not merely from the laws of mind, which we are apt to think are easily modified by the will, but from the laws of matter also, which we cannot alter however much we can employ them. Those appetites which have the body for their instrument affect the body by their indulgence. They foster morbid cravings for gratification, terrible sometimes in their painfulness and power. And these no effort of will, no resolutions even of the sincerest, sharpest penitence, can eradicate or allay. They may be loathed, struggled with, by God's grace denied and mortified; but there they are the sad consequences of the guilty past to tempt, to torment, and to add a hundredfold to the difficulty, and therefore to the improbability, of a real repentance.

It is a kindred consequence of sensuality indulged, that it fills the mind with reminiscences and thoughts of evil. Hence it is that sights and sounds and thoughts -- circumstances in themselves the most trivial and irrelevant -- have become associated in the sinner's mind with images of impurity and recollections of unlawful pleasure. A fearful engine for ill, brethren, in the hands of our spiritual foe, are these suggestions of the guilty past. To the impenitent they are ever-recurring monitors of ill and ministers of temptation, blighting the growth of better thoughts and withering the very life of prayer; polluting the soul with their presence while they debilitate its perception of sin, and unfit and enfeeble it for repentance.

Together with these results of sensuality indulged, and partly in consequence of them, is the gradual deadening of the soul to the perception of spiritual things. The first sins bring often their immediate and severe punishment -- God is felt to be displeased, and His face to be turned away; and the polluted soul is steeped in an agony of shame, and even entreats in an agony of prayer. It is well if it is so, that prayer may be the turning-point of present, or the seed of future, repentance. But often the stricken soul sullenly turns away from God. At any rate, the sin repeated takes off the edge of the shame and enfeebles the earnestness of the prayer.

But the great and solemn truth which underlies all this, and of which the effects of sensuality at which we have glanced are the outward manifestations, is this: that the Holy Spirit will not abide with the sensual and self-indulgent. "If any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His." "If ye live after the flesh, ye shall die; but if ye, through the Spirit, do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live." If the sin is indulged either in act or imagination, and the sensual habit forms and gathers strength, the Spirit, resisted and grieved, will not always strive. Its voice is heard less often, its light burns dimmer. Such therefore, brethren, is the tendency of sensuality indulged -- to beget a late remorse but to prevent a timely penitence. There are degrees, doubtless, in its consequences as there are degrees in its guilt; but in all cases they are sufficiently sad.

O how much happier, even in this life, is the path of timely self-denial, the taking up the cross to follow Christ! He too has a yoke, no doubt, and a burden; but "His yoke is easy and His burden is light." But if any hear me to whom such words seem to come too late, who have the stain on their soul and feel the chain of habit round them, what shall I say to you? That there is no "place of repentance" for you? God forbid! There is "a fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness," and you, even you, may wash and be clean.

#John Jackson #Sensuality and Repentance #Hebrews 12:16-17 #purity #cleanliness #fornication #impurity #filth #following Christ #denying the flesh

7 notes · View notes

yr-obedt-cicero · 2 years ago

Note

Was it true that Hamilton's mother was a whore?

If yes, how did he feel about it? Did his political enemies use it against him?

If not, who started the rumor?

Thank you and have a nice day!

The only informational and reliable source material I can find in regards to Rachel are; Ron Chernow's biography, and Micheal E. Newton's blog. If by whore, you mean she didn't let herself get restrained by bitch ass men; then yeah. The truthful rumors originated from Rachel's first husband, Johann Lavien.

Lavien peddled household goods and was a slave holder. He owned at least sixteen slaves, including five to seven children. He was possibly a Jewish man, but if he was; he hid it greatly. The Carribean region was treated as a sideline international trade center, especially for the British and Americans. Lavien attempted to utilize the system to make himself wealthy, and spent all his fortune on a plantation and pompous attire.

According to Hamilton; despite Rachel's disinterest in Lavien, her mother, Mary Uppington Faucette, encouraged Lavien to marry her. Because she was captivated by his expensive clothes and rich appeal, and had to push Rachel into reluctantly agreeing to what became a hated marriage. And in 1745, they married — Rachel was sixteen at the time. The couple moved to a plantation called Contentment. The coming year, in 1746; they had their son, Peter Lavien. Although it appears the marriage quickly became an unhappy one. Hamilton claims that Lavien only married Rachel for the wealth that she inherited from her late father;

“A Dane a fortune-hunter of the name of Lavine came to Nevis bedizzened with gold, and paid his addresses to my mother then a handsome young woman having a snug fortune.”

(source — Alexander Hamilton to William Jackson, [August 26, 1800])

Likely due to the disheartening conditions of their marriage, Rachael soughted out a romantic relationship with a man named Johan Jacob Cronenberg. According to Newton's records findings;

“Johan Michael Lawin [...] had been obliged to experience that his wedded wife, Rachel, who for a long time had absented herself from him, was residing with a bachelor Johan Cronenberg.”

“Johan Michael Lawin, whose wedded wife the aforesaid Cronenberg accuses of having resided with him for a long time in fornication.”

(source — Discovering Hamilton)

Apparently Lavien heard somehow of Rachel's residing with Cronenberg, and “found” her in Cronenberg's “lodging, well hidden behind locked doors, wherefrom her husband fetched her and drove her home.” Due to this being an act of infidelity since Rachel and Lavien were not divorced; Cronenberg was “not only…seriously warned to keep away from this woman of loose morals but also punished with some days’ incarceration.” Despite this, Rachel soon returned to live with Cronenberg. And Cronenberg “again had sexual relations with this woman and without feeling shame publicly kept her with him in his house and lived there with her.”

October 8, 1749, John Lavien; “requested the court’s assistance to repair with him to Cronenberg’s plantation house to seize and arrest Cronenberg and Rachel for further legal prosecution.” Which did eventually lead to the arrest of Rachel and Cronenberg;

“‘This the agent of the court complied with, and at night at about 12 o’clock had come to said plantation and […] the 2 accused persons were found in the bedroom taking their usual night’s rest.’

‘The agents of the court […] seized them both in their bedroom, undressed and with more debauched circumstances that sufficiently demonstrated their shameless intercourse and scandalous life’ and ‘declared them both to be under arrest and had them brought…to Fort Christiansvaern’ to be imprisoned.”

(source — Discovering Hamilton)

By the 10th, or 20th, the court case of Cronenberg and Rachel was brought before the municipal court. And both Rachael and Cronenberg were charged and found guilty, they were sentenced to be imprisoned at Fort Christiansvaern.

US National Park Service marker for the Christiansted National Historic Site

“Rachel spent several months in a dark, cramped cell that measured ten by thirteen feet, and she must have gone through infernal torments of fear and loneliness. Through a small, deeply inset window, she could stare across sharpened spikes that encircled the outer wall and gaze at the blue-green water that sparkled in the fierce tropical sunlight. She could also eavesdrop on the busy wharf, stacked with hogsheads of sugar [...] All the while, she had to choke down a nauseating diet of salted herring, codfish, and boiled yellow cornmeal mush.”

(source — Alexander Hamilton, by Ron Chernow)

Nearly eight months after having his wife and her paramour imprisoned; Lavien requested to the municipal court to free Rachel, and expressed his belief that she had been sufficiently punished. On the 4th of May, 1750, the court agreed and decided that Rachel, “in consideration of her long incarceration,” was to be released so that she “might again betake herself to her husband and with him lead a better life.”

But instead of submitting to the disgusting patriarchal system, and her cruel husband; Rachel left in 1750, after five years of unhappy marriage. She moved to St. Kitts early of that year, where she met James Hamilton (There are a few theories they had met previously, but there are no official records to support such). They had both been struggling with the taints involving their names, and had likely been drawn together. Hamilton claims his parents married, but in any legal sense they had not;

“My mother afterwards went to St. Kitts, became acquainted with my father and a marriage between them ensued, followed by many years cohabitation and several children.”

(source — Alexander Hamilton to William Jackson, [August 26, 1800])

In 1753, they had James Hamilton Jr., and on January 11, 1757 (Or 1755), they had Alexander Hamilton. Some sources claim (Including Hamilton himself) they had more children, but if they did; they are unknown, and there are no surviving records to prove such. Rachel inherited a property in the capital Charlestown, also three enslaved servants from her mother — who were; Rebecca, Flora, and Esther, one of them had a son named Ajax, and he was assigned to care for James Jr and Hamilton.

Fast forward to 1759 - nine years after Rachel fled - Lavien has found himself in a lot of debt. He had to sell most of his plantation, and rent out his few slaves to make enough. A dutiful woman was living with, and cleaning for Lavien. It is likely that he wished to marry her, which lead to him wishing to obtain a divorce summons on February 26, 1759.

Lavien claimed Rachel had;

“absented herself from [Lavien] for nine years and gone elsewhere, where she has begotten several illegitimate children, so that such action is believed to be more sufficient for him to obtain a divorce from her.”

(source — Alexander Hamilton, by Ron Chernow)

Lavien also said he “had taken care of Rachel's legitimate child [Peter Lavien] from what little he has been able to earn,” while she had, “completely forgotten her duty and let husband and child alone and instead given herself up to whoring with everyone, which things the plantiff are so well known that her own family and friends must hate her for it.”

Even after this merciless allegation, Lavien demanded that Rachel be denied all legal rights to his property. He warned that if he died before her, Rachel, “as a widow would possibly seek to take possession of the estate and there- fore not only acquire what she ought not to have but also take this away from his child and give it to her whore-children.”

Mistakenly, Rachel didn't even try to refute the allegations, or show up to court; which meant on the 25th of June, Lavien recieved a divorce that permitted him to remarry — but on the other hand, Rachel couldn't. To make matters worse, in April 1765; James Sr. got a business assignment located in Christiansted. And brought his family with him to St. Croix, although Lavien was far from there he was still on the island. Even more unfortunately, Rachel was no longer allowed the liberty of calling herself “Mrs. Hamilton”, due to how close the Fort - that she was once imprisoned at - was in the area, Rachel would have had to renter her infamous identity as a notorious woman of misdeeds. As records from this time only title her as correct, or mispronunciated, forms of “Faucette” and “Lavien”.

James would then also adruptly leave and abandon his family, after a victory with the Moir case. His motives or intentions are unknown. Hamilton generously claims his father could no longer support his family, and others claim Rachel's smeared name was likely rubbing off on his own.

Anyway, that's the tale of Rachel's many marriages and love lives; I think it unfair judgement to call her such derogatory names when considering everything she was dealing with, and additionally from such a young age. It is clear she committed infidelity while married, and they are not only rumors — but I don't think it's a fair assessment to fault her for such, when she was trapped in an unhappy marriage.

As for people using it against Hamilton; they did. As mentioned previously, Lavien called James Jr and Hamilton “whore-children”, and according to Chernow; journalist nemeses called Hamilton “the son of a camp girl”.

Hope this helped!

#amrev #american history #rachel faucette buck #rachel faucette hamilton #rachel faucette #johann lavien #johan jacob cronenberg #alexander hamilton #historical alexander hamilton #james hamilton #history #hamilton family #queries #sincerely anonymous #Cicero's history lessons

46 notes · View notes

dog-day-morning · 3 years ago

Text

The word of God tells us we shall suffer for the cause of Christ, he who seeks a greater reward must attain a greater faith. Unto whom much is given that much more is required. You wanna eat that whole caramel cake, you crave that sweet tea, you pursue that woman in a nightclub hoping to get her in a compromised position, face down tail up because face it, we're not willing to bow down to the will of God, but we’re so happy, and ready to give in to that round mound of doo doo brown. The 3 Hebrew boys Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego went into the fiery furnace defying Nebuchadnezzar's declaration to worship him. These men had the inspiration, strength, and courage to say, even if He doesn't deliver us, we know that He can. That kind of faith is called perfected faith. We can be lazy because we refuse to work with what God gave us before the day of calamity comes to devour us. Tribulation is kicking into high gear, and many of God’s people are none the wiser. There are people who were working 3 jobs before, and after this pandemic became a global concern who know what is on the horizon. You don't need an Issachar spirit to discern the times; read the Bible. He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you say at once, ‘A shower is coming.’ And so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat,’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time? The gov't has pulled back on unemployment benefits forcing many to find a job. The 2 righteous servants in the parable of the 3 servants increased the wealth of their employer who trusted 3 men with different amounts of talents [money], and the 1 who didn't work diligently for his master inherited weeping, and gnashing of teeth. God invested in us, and He expected a greater return from this major investment. Jesus was the greatest financial venture ever made. The Father placed His faith in His Son who in turn gave Him many more sons that walk amongst us waiting for the Day of Judgment. This investment which supersedes all, but are intertwined will never decrease, and forever increase. The 144,000 isn't a spiritually inspired interpretation based on mine, and Mima getting the Holy Ghost or having an encounter with the Holy Spirit to speak in tongues. Sit down grandma, your Depends are leaking brown stuff that reeks of formaldehyde, and raw chitlins. God is looking for a righteous Nation to worship Him not themselves. These men, and boys who represent the 12 tribes of Israel have never been defiled by women, and hopefully not by men either. You lucky mother You can take the word literally or as a misinterpretation. Those who don't believe in the written word who believe that God's word isn't infallible aren't all to blame for this heresy. Those who originally interpreted the King James Bible added to, and took from are suffering for a misleading interpretation. The prophetic which God didn't let man corrupt altogether has pretty much played out verbatim. We may be dying to a world that is trying to kill our faith that God has no intention of doing until He finds His true worshippers, and He’ll never destroy one's faith in Him. Winter is coming and you and I must be prepared. We must live like today is our last without being caught up in fear. I'm suffering from a form of laziness called jackass. God shall supply all your needs, but faith without works is dead. The ant has the intuition to work throughout the Summer knowing that Winter is coming. A lot of these drones won't live to see the finished product. Ant mounds look like the Pyramids of Giza that secure the Queen, but where is the King? They serve the one who gives life that sustains the colony, she is their goddess, but what happens if the Queen dies? There's more than one Queen serving the colony who can breed an entire colony independent of one other. fulfilling their role while working together in unison with the others who all serve a greater purpose. This

is a major element that drives the Kingdome of heaven. Christ is just like His Father In the Kingdome that includes the Holy Spirit which they will pour upon all flesh again soon. There are no cowards or sinners in the Kingdome. The angels are not as drones, they are blessed warriors.

Revelation 21:8

8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.

1 Corinthians 6:8-10

8 Nay, ye do wrong, and defraud, and that your brethren.

9 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,

10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

Alkebulan we need to wake up and get right. Black American's of the tribes of Judah, Gad, Reuben, and Issachar you need to aim at my forehead, and scatter my scatter brained grey matter all over the pavement. When Joe Biden told a radio podcaster if you don't vote for me you're not Black, he must be color blind. This vaccine that suspiciously looks like the Mark of Whodunnit. They can plant a microchip in your arm that can track your every move, financial transaction, and possibly your dreams while you sleep. Some Walmart stores are refusing to take cash when you check out; they only take debit, and credit cards. These are signs that we’re living in the End Times. The Last Days. I'm looking at this as a sign to get the hell outta this city, and decompose. What in God's name am I afraid of? Jesus took a beat down like a man on a mission.. You're not weak or simping if you gave your life for a people you fed, healed, gave sight to, preached to, taught them a new way to live, pray, love, told them about a Kingdome greater than Jerusalem, and you didn't kill anybody in the process knowing what they were going to do to your physical body in an almost retarded like bid to destroy their salvation. I've done none of that; my bad. Stop looking for men, especially zaddy to deliver us. “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” Some of us foolheartedly called Bill Clinton the first Black president when he's not, never can, or will be to me in any sense, Barack wasn't either. Thomas Jefferson, the third elected president, who served two terms between 1801 and 1809 was described as the “son of a half-breed Indian squaw (Black) and a Virginia mulatto father (Black).” Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, served between 1861, and 1865. Lincoln had very dark skin, and coarse hair and his mother allegedly came from an Ethiopian tribe. His heritage fueled so much controversy that Lincoln was nicknamed “Abraham Africanus the First” by his presidential opponents and cartoons were drawn depicting him as a Negro. Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Dwight David Eisenhower, and the scourge of the South Andrew Jackson were all n**gahs. I’ll see you come Hanukkah you self-hating black, Uncle Ruckus’s. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, why should I be overjoyed about the genocide, and enslavement of God's people? Christmas is what it is. Hopefully you will celebrate this holiday season together fulfilling God's prophetic word. I can't unless you kill me. The Christmas holiday is as pagan as Joel Osteen is at scamming. David Duke, you might wanna go to ancestry.com, and take a DNA test. You might be 30% Swahili. By the looks of those big, gorilla nostrals you had before that rhinoplasty. You, and Bull Connor may be related to Idi Amin. Your biggest shame is your greatest blessing. Personally you can kiss the skid marks in the middle of my skid marks after I take a fresh dump. Conservative, political pundits, and wannabes whose names I won't mention, but one in particular who looks like he smoked 23 blunts in 15min. with no filter. Please keep him in California, and let him drown with his zaddy, and pancaked tail, bowed hipped women. Use your lips as a floatation device dude. These people are ashamed of the God who has blessed many, and plenty. These people suffer, hopefully not always, from the white savior or white zaddy complex. The truth isn't in any of them, that's why they're so adept at lying when making bold-faced statements before the public that opposes their previous opinion like people don’t have YouTube or google. I’ll Bing a factoid or Yahoo that mother to get the truth I may even pay for it, gimme a dollar. My inability to walk amongst men as a man has stagnated my propensity to live That's BS, my Apostle said something this past Sunday that's stuck on my forehead. YOU'RE LAZY!!! I am what I am, a pain in the rear end. This has gone on way too long. Sometimes

I feel as though God wants me to kill myself because the PO PO won’t. I would feel better if my natural family would stab me in the neck, not my back, with a piece of diseased, pork, spare rib from a boar hog, and let me die from a rare form of trichinosis. The people have spoken while I’m playing Jay, and Silent Bob. Father, get me outta here. Elohim, 9/16/2021

#your financial transactions

6 notes · View notes

dgcatanisiri · 4 years ago

Text

Right. THAT is why I don’t watch every video essay that passes through my recommendations, just because it’s about a subject of queerness. Because it wants to talk about one of the biggest examples of queerbaiting as if it existed in isolation from everything else that happened in that fandom.

I need to blow off some steam here.

When it comes to addressing issues of St*rek, you CAN. NOT. divorce the discussion of how the show queerbaited the audience from the audience’s racism. The show had a canon queer character (of color) and centered around a character of color. And, when it came to fan content, what I would usually see come about, if the above two were involved AT ALL? Was crap like this.

A gif of Scott and Stiles, Stiles going for a fist bump, Scott a five, and them just rolling with it, with the text below bringing up a “stoned fratboy” AU. And the very next reblog text drops Scott IMMEDIATELY and makes it into a St*rek thing. Nothing about this show mattered but the characters of Stiles and Derek.

This will forever be what that pairing is associated with in my mind. The erasure of Scott to prop it up, even when it’s not even the subject.

The thing is, this pairing has ALWAYS been my go-to of straight people translating the dynamics of straight relationships onto queer couples, a translation that always misses the mark - aesthetic attraction aside, you aren’t going to genuinely fall for and proceed to act on an attraction to someone who is legitimately aggressive to you. The bully and the bullied do not ACTUALLY end up together, because the bully has made it clear that, if they were given the chance, they’d leave you bloody, not your heart a-flutter.

AND THAT WAS THE DYNAMIC. For the better part of Derek’s time on the show, he did not give a single flying fornication about Stiles - his focus was on SCOTT. On how Scott - the “Teen Wolf” of the series name - was now a werewolf, how that made a connection between them, as pack. Derek legitimately threatened Stiles with bodily harm on multiple occasions - and in a few occasions off the top of my head, actually followed through with it. Stiles was something that Derek had to put up with, and routinely made it clear that he didn’t particularly care to.

It doesn’t matter how flustered Stiles might have gotten about Derek, the genuine reality always was that Derek DIDN’T care about Stiles. It was not until the show began actively leaning in to the queerbaiting that we saw any positive shift in their interactions. Until that point, it was a lot of antagonism, and, again, antagonism may have often been used to describe straight pairings, but... I mean, people, even the straights are reaching the point of calling out this shit as being unhealthy dynamics at best.

But they were attractive white guys who breathed in the same room, while being the only romantically unattached characters in the main cast during the first season. Despite the fact that both had plenty of interactions with other characters that could have offered them something with more foundation - Scott and Stiles are best friends who are as close as brothers, Derek is after Scott to join the pack. Stiles on screen is pestering Danny about “am I attractive to gay guys?” and then got him to come over to his bedroom (it’s the same scene as that infamous “Derek in Stiles’s bedroom” bit, not that anyone ever discusses that...) Hell, go in the direction of the dynamic above, Scott and Jackson are rivals on the lacrosse team throughout Jackson’s time. Yet, even with that being the same dynamic AND not involving either character - so not “conflicting” with the ship while offering the same draw in terms of their interactions - it’s a barely touched ship when you look it up on AO3.

So we have the fandom actively AVOIDING featuring the characters of color, diminishing them, and, based on my experience in terms of the content that existed throughout the time of the show’s airing, even transplanting Scott’s characterization over to Stiles - Stiles is the snarky shit who doesn’t mind suggesting killing a perceived threat because he wants the danger dealt with directly, while Scott is the compassionate nurturer who will do everything in his power to find a solution that saves the most lives. But I recall a lot of trying to make Stiles out as “the pack mom!friend,” as if he’d be the one taking care of all these characters if they showed up unexpectedly.

Like, that example always came with the way he positioned himself over Isaac and Erica in the episode “Raving.” The way that actually is him using them as a shield - if the kanima broke through the door they were pressed against, it’d hit them first, giving Stiles time to run away. But sure, he’s the pack mama, looking out for the baby betas.

When Stiles or Derek suggest or do something morally questionable, they’re justified. When Scott disagrees, he’s the worst. When Derek betrays Scott (working with Peter in season one), his actions are brushed off entirely. When Scott (justifiably) does not trust Derek (his plan for dealing with Gerard in the season two finale), he’s a horrible person for leaving Derek in the dark - even though Derek has spent the whole season actively preying on a group of teenage outcasts, threatening to kill anyone he believes is the kanima, and just generally being a variety flavor bag of dicks.

The fandom diminished Scott, and it even diminished Danny - at the same time that we had Danny and Ethan’s relationship in season three, there were still calls for “a gay couple” on the show. Like, that was the way it was looked at, that “we need a gay couple,” exact words. Because Danny/Ethan was not main cast, or, to put it bluntly since I already said this was a matter of racism, because Danny wasn’t white, this canon gay relationship was ignored and erased in the name of getting the two white boys to kiss. Not “a gay couple in the main cast.” Just “a gay couple.”

For the record, I’m not gonna touch on the age gap element, Stiles at 16, Derek in his early 20s, even though I know it’s become a popular thing to go into as time has gone on - in today’s example of “nuance is a thing,” the nuance of this is that we have adult actors playing teenage characters, which creates muddied waters since fictional construct says one thing, but your eyes and head are seeing actors of a more appropriate age interacting, and while I don’t condone it IRL, this is still fiction and I’m gonna just leave that alone for the time being. The core of my complaint overall here is that fandom was inventing this relationship wholesale and then getting pissy when canon didn’t conform and actors disagreed.

So when you have an interview where, after a few years of being asked repeatedly about “is St*rek gonna happen?” when he plays neither character, when this show is supposedly meant to center on his character, but no one seems to talk to him ABOUT his character, when these “fans” are minimizing him and his character, Tyler Posey makes a snippy remark about how this is “weird, twisted, bizarre, and they’re watching for the wrong thing”? Yeah, actually. He’s right. St*rek shippers WERE watching for the wrong thing.

In the eyes of these shippers, Scott could do no right if it would mean that Derek was wrong. To them, “Teen Wolf” was a description of Stiles (the teen) and Derek (the wolf), and Scott was an incidental character at best. And how dare anyone involved be at all upset over this.

But the videos on queerbaiting NEVER bring this stuff up. And, when those from outside the fandom, who report on these in autopsy fashion, bring up things like Tyler Posey’s comment, they do it in a manner that even suggests that he - the actor who was nineteen/twenty years old at the time of the show’s filming and premiere - was responsible for the various forms of queerbaiting that the producers pushed, like the infamous “Dylan O’Brien and Tyler Hoechlin cuddling on a ship” thing. So, you know, just perpetuating this attitude that permeated this fandom, of this casual low-level racism.

But no, this never comes up. But speaking as someone who was there during the height of Teen Wolf’s Tumblr popularity? Oh, it ABSOLUTELY was everywhere. But, because the people doing these autopsies were in the midst of this (and, while I’m acknowledging this at the end of this ranting, I do want to be clear that I am speaking about this fandom as an entity in its own right, and not any singular individual in and of themselves, I don’t think that all shippers of this ship are racist or that shipping it is in and of itself racist, just that as an overall experience of this fandom is this core of) or they came after the show’s heyday and missed it, know the pairing for being queerbaited before they know the show/fandom/pairing itself... They’re not seeing it. They’re not talking about it. And it makes for a deep failing in these examinations. Because that racism is why the pairing got as popular as it did. Again, there were other pairings with other foundations available. And yet somehow, it’s the white guys who hate each other getting all the attention in the fandom, over anything else.

#dg rants #anti sterek

18 notes · View notes

kingofdirtandnothing · 4 years ago

Text

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Twenty Three

“You know, I didn’t expect retirement to be this good.” Jack can feel the sway of the dock beneath him, the slow and steady slosh of the waves where it hits the wood. The sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blushing pink and soft yellows. It’s paradise, plain and simple.

Even the breeze was gentle, soft and sweet and scented with the salt of the ocean without that heavy fish smell that came with being too close to the dock.

And the only reason he’s here is sitting beside him in a matching folding chair, a little streak of aluminum white sunscreen still visible on his nose, just below where his glasses have slid. Jack doesn’t make any effort to look down at the book in Daniel’s lap, he knows he wouldn’t get it, even on the off chance it was written in English.

Knowing Danny, it was probably in Aramaic or something.

For all the overflowing bookshelves in their little condo, if Jack had to guess how many of them were in English, he’d guess twenty five percent or less. There were German fairy tales and Polish fantasy novels, and even some Russian crime novels shoved on the far end of the shelf. Jack picked them up when he saw something interesting in the book store. It was a game, trying to see if there was something Danny couldn’t read.

And on those few times he found something Daniel wasn’t fluent in, the stubborn bastard would sit there with a dual language dictionary and a notebook and puzzle his way through the whole thing. Then he’d flop down on Jack in bed and give him a smug review of whatever it was.

Jack just hoped Daniel never cottoned on to the fact that Jack liked those smug book reviews more than any he’d ever read in the paper. All that skin against his skin while he was listening to Daniel talk didn’t hurt either.

“I thought...frozen dinners and too many days in a row in front of the TV watching the game.” Any game. Hell, Jack had stooped so low a time or two that he sat there and watched things like shuffleboard and darts. Because that’s what his retirement had been the first time around, after Charlie died. The silence of an empty house, his marriage bed cold and his son’s old bedroom a mausoleum. The only sound that ever broke the silence was the sound of the tv. Jack hadn’t turned it off for two years.

He’d gone through the motions while the divorce finalized, and even got in touch with a lawyer. Jack had a decent pension from his time in the service, and a nice sized life insurance policy. He’d just been waiting to make sure that putting a gun in his mouth wasn’t going to take all those things from Sarah.

After what he took from her, the least he could do was make sure she was taken care of financially when he was gone.

More than a few nights had been spent with the same sidearm that took his kid from him sitting on the arm of his recliner. Just in case he was ready.

Jack never could work up the nerve to be ready.

It’s not a story he’s ever going to tell Daniel. Some things were just meant to be kept to yourself. But he thinks about it now, about how much he would have missed out on if he let his grief pull him over the edge and into the darkness.

Sarah had told him once, long after the divorce and with tears in her eyes, that Charlie wouldn’t have wanted this for him. That he wouldn’t have wanted his dad to be miserable for the rest of his life. That he could grieve their boy but at some point, he would have to move on with his life. (Sarah was a saint of a woman. She never blamed him for something that was his fault. That was alright, Jack would blame himself enough for the both of them, for the rest of his life.)

It was her words in his head that made him even pick up the phone when Hammond called. Jack had ignored a whole lot of calls from a whole lot of people before then. He and Hammond had been in the Air Force together, and even worked a couple of missions on the back end when Hammond was riding the pine pony and before Jack’s forced retirement took him out of the service altogether.

It was Hammond who said he had a security company that he was starting up, and that he could use a fresh pair of eyes to make sure he was covering all his bases. Jack didn’t manage to have that conversation without asking Hammond if Sarah called him. He was too raw, too pissed off at the idea of being forgiven to leave it alone.

Hammond, God bless him and rest his soul, had deadpanned all the way through the phone wire. ‘Son, whether she did or not doesn’t change the fact that I’m asking you to do me a favor here.’

So Jack let words like favor and friendship coax him back out of his deathly silent house in Colorado and halfway across the world. Rich folks always needed someone to look after them, regardless of if they actually needed someone watching their backs at night. It was easy pay, most of the time.

And then Jack got saddled with a sarcastic archaeologist who got a bodyguard courtesy of the university, after one of his failed students tried to put a hit out on him on the internet. (Jack always wondered how you even started looking for someone to kill another person. Did you type ‘hitman for hire’ in a search engine or something?)

The rest was long, complicated history. A whole lot of time and miles and sitting in on lectures until Jack stopped zoning out and started listening. Dr. Daniel Jackson was smart, that was never up for debate. Jack knew that the second he laid eyes on him. But listening to him talk, Jack started to realize how much more than just an egghead that Daniel was.

He was clever, and he was funny. God, Daniel has a whip smart sense of humor and Jack enjoys it just as much now as he did when he first started seeing it unleashed on poor and unsuspecting entitled assholes at colleges where Daniel was going to speak. Dr. Jackson took no shit, but he did it with a smile on his face and left a lot of confused people in his wake.

And how was a guy like Jack supposed to turn a blind eye to that? He’d settled down with Sarah, sure, and he loved the hell out of her. (He loved her so much that he was pretty sure he’d never be able to fall in love with a woman again.) But he’d had more than his fair share of foxhole fornication with the boys before he and Sarah got married.

So spending his days shadowing a smart mouthed professor started being an exercise in repression. Because above all else, Jack was a professional. He wasn’t going to let his slow slide from respect to fondness to Feeling get in the way of doing his job. Hammond deserved better than that.

Daniel did too.

“You don’t have the best long view on the world, Jack. You’ve been known to be a little short sighted.” It’s sharp, and a little wry, and Jack loves the way that Daniel puts his index finger right on the line that he was reading so that he won’t lose his spot while he shoots a playful, loving look at Jack.

“Yeah yeah, rub it in why don’t you.” Jack gestures around him, encompassing the blue skies and the white sand beaches and the handsome fella sitting next to him all with a wave of the hand that would do Vanna White proud. “This is all here because of you.”

Because Jack might have had decades worth of practice when it came to repressing the things in life he couldn’t deal with at the time, Daniel Jackson had never met a puzzle that he couldn’t solve. And Daniel had looked at Jack and seen a Gordian knot that he was itching to get his fingers on, convinced that if he could find the right string and tug, that he could unravel him.

Smug bastard was right, too. Jack came apart like a house of cards in a hurricane the first time that Daniel cornered him in an elevator, a hand pressed flat against his chest and the smell of his cologne in Jack’s nose. ‘I want you.’ Daniel said, in that same knowing way he talked about the pyramids and the ancient Egyptians. ‘And I know you want me too. So why don’t we stop circling each other like some kind of alpha predator and actually do something about it?’

That had been peak Daniel. An argument rushed out on excitable words that Jack couldn’t think of a good excuse to argue back with. It didn’t hurt that they were coming to the end of Daniel’s contract, and his shit for brains ex-student hadn’t so much as sent a threatening email since the cops got involved.

And in true Daniel fashion, he dug and he dug and he dusted off all the broken vase pieces of Jack’s heart and he treasured them just as they were. No need to be glued back together, or polished. Daniel loved him as much academically as he did emotionally, and Jack loves the son of a bitch so much for it that it keeps him up at night sometimes.

Literally.

Just the other night, Jack had lain there, tipped over onto his side because Daniel slept like the damn dead, and watched the way the filtered light from the street outside played against Daniel’s cheekbone, and felt that knot in his chest go taut. Daniel was the reason Jack got out of bed every day.

(And in the morning, while Daniel was shoveling oatmeal into his mouth without looking away from the translation in front of him, Jack had let slip ‘Charlie would have liked you’. And he meant it, too. Charlie had been whip smart, too. He would have loved Daniel.)

“No short jokes from you, junior.” It’s a lazy back and forth, and Jack digs at his own thoughts for a second until he can find the words that Daniel had used for it in one of his lectures last week. Call and response.

Jack wasn’t getting paid to sit in on the lectures now. But he still liked to take up a spot in the back row and do the crossword with the ebb and flow of Daniel’s voice washing over him, the same way the sound of the sea was washing over him now.

“I would never.” But Daniel’s voice trails off, the same way that his attention is fading, already shifting back to the book in his hand. If Jack was a betting man, he’d bet that tonight would be one of those nights that he’d have to roll out of bed with creaking knees and crackling ankles at two in the morning and usher Daniel into bed. He was close to a breakthrough, and Jack knew that getting much else out of him today when his brain was in Translation Mode wasn’t going to happen.

“Yeah yeah.” Jack repeats, his own kind of absent as he reaches over to squeeze Daniel’s knee, careful not to bump the book where it sits in his lap. He turns his own attention back to the rod and reel he’s been ignoring through this stroll down memory lane, giving it a little tug on the line.

Nothing was biting at the moment, but that was alright. Jack had nothing else to do, and there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

#ch: jack #polyfacetious | daniel #polyfacetious #queued #v: expats row #carlota's christmas drabbles

4 notes · View notes

mayhemchicken-varneyposting · 4 months ago

Text

my terrible vampire oc who was so obsessed with fighting duels they changed massachusetts law to try and stop him (but could not)

...does it count as a varney the vampire oc if he's on another continent for the entire story and never interacts with any of the characters?

#art #oc #varney the vampire #fornication jackson #he's very much a varney character In Spirit. they are so obsessed with dueling in that book #that's an unedited wikipedia screenshot btw. this was a Real Massachusetts Law

25 notes · View notes

kenzieam · 5 years ago

Text

Not Happening, Doll - Chapter Three (Bucky X Lev)

Rating: M (language, violence, eventual smut, angst, slow burn)

Genre: Drama/Angst

@captstefanbrandt @iammarylastar @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @notimetoblog @captain-ariel-barnes @bitsandbobsandstuff @softlybarnes @lovelybbarnes @buckitybarnes @bucky-plums-barnes @moonbeambucky @badassbaker @citylights221 @empress-of-boujee @chook007 @shynara51 @diinofayce @casestudy-mw @jewels2876 @damnaged-princess @everythingisoverrated @allmyfanficfaves @clarabella960 @angryschnauzer @wowspideyholland @smilexcaptainx @shirukitsune @cake-writes

If I missed any tag requests, I apologize!!

*IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED OR DELETED FROM THIS LIST, DM ME*

*****************************************************************************

Levi and Bucky cannot stand each other (or rather, the former Winter Soldier cannot stand to be around the Avenger’s newest member and, like the ass he is, he won’t divulge why) and of course, they get teamed up for a new mission. It’s deep cover this time and not only do they have to work together, they have to pretend they’re MARRIED.

Heaven help them….

****************************************************************************

This is turning into a much slower burn than I thought……

***************************************************************************

The town looked quiet and Bucky was immediately suspicious. It looked too good to be true, too clean and when he voiced this, he was surprised to hear Levi agree with him, her gaze sharp as she navigated the wide streets, following the direction of her phone’s GPS. A few random people were out on their lawns or in front of garages with open doors, and they shaded their eyes and watched these newcomers, raising a slow hand in greeting that Bucky returned only after Levi hissed at him to.

The house chosen for them was tidy and neat, a large deck out front; cookie-cutter identical to the other houses on the street, different from its immediate neighbors only by color and choice of ornamental bush. As they looked closer, they noticed the startling incongruity of the front door, a bold red color.

“Think that’s a sign?” Bucky asked dryly as Levi parked in front of the garage. “They’ve already made us?”

“Well, you’re the one who wouldn’t wave.” Levi replied, perhaps even more dryly. Grabbing a suitcase from the back seat, Levi continued to the front door, fiddling with a set of keys she’d pulled from her pocket.

Bucky appeared at her side, waited until she’d unlocked the door and pushed it open before asking flatly. “You want me to carry you over the threshold?”

“Wouldn’t want you to get my ‘cooties’, Jackson.”

The ‘movers’ had been and gone; and boxes were scattered hither and yon, random bits of furniture in equally random corners. The house smelled clean but empty, not musty yet but definitely disused; Levi wondered if Jackass would object to her essential oil diffuser. Probably, asshat.

Bucky reappeared from outside, carrying the last of the ‘luggage’ and set it to the side. Rubbing a hand through his hair, grimacing as he did so, he glanced Levi’s way.

“Want to get something to eat first-“ he was interrupted by knocking at the door and a hollered ‘Hello?’

His grimace deepening, Bucky sighed and stage whispered. “Showtime.”

Rolling her eyes at him, Levi strode to the door and pulled it open. A Stepford Wife stood outside, updated for the new millennium but still a robot.

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” She trilled, her spit glands showing in her joker grin.

“Thank you,” Levi struggled to remember her manners in the light of this artificial sun. A dish was shoved into her hands and Levi clamored for a nerve-racking beat, almost dropping it.

“I’m Tiffanie! The unofficial, official neighborhood Welcome Wagon! I saw the moving truck earlier and just knew you’d be here soon, so I whipped up a casserole for you!”

Her words died on her tongue and Levi was momentarily struck dumb. Bucky appeared, pulling Levi to his side and she leaned stiffly against him, fighting to look natural.

“Thank you, it looks delicious.” Bucky leaned over and inhaled the dish, flashing a panty-dropping smile at Tiffanie who all but cooed and swooned in return. “I’m Jackson Harper and this is my wife, Madison.”

Finally finding her tongue, Levi wrested the dish to one hand and shook Tiffanie’s. “Please, call me Maddie.”

“Oh, aren’t you just precious!” Translation: holy shit, this man is totally hot and you’re totally out of your league, Madison. “Do you work at the Company?” She continued, reminding Levi of this peculiarity she’d been warned of, the townspeople’s habit of referring to the corporation as if it was it’s own entity. Interesting.

“I do,” Levi answered and, in a movement she certainly didn’t plan and would spend the next few hours analyzing and internally shaking her head over, snuggled closer to Bucky, wrapping her arm around him. Bucky hid his surprise well, only a faint tightening of his fingers on her hip giving him away, but Tiff was too dazzled by his face to notice. “Jackson works from home.”

“Oh,” Tiffanie cooed, eyes roaming none too subtly up and down Bucky. She turned, keeping a coy gaze over her shoulder. “See you both around then.” She tottered away, throwing another look over her shoulder to make sure Bucky was still looking.

Bucky stepped away and back like Levi stunk and she shut the door before turning to face him, the casserole heavy in her hands. Bucky picked irritably at his left hand; lip curled in annoyance.

“Leave it alone.” Levi scolded. “The glove is delicate, remember?”

Bucky threw her a look that clearly invited her to fornicate with herself but he dropped his hand, flexing his fist with a grumble. Stark had furnished him with a lifelike skin-t0ne glove to hide his metal hand, but it was less than perfect camouflage and didn’t fit exactly, prompting Bucky to pick at it like a hangnail. It would do for long distances, but he probably wouldn’t be able to fool anyone if they actually grabbed his hand and looked closely.

Levi glanced once more towards the door and batted her eyelashes like Tiffanie. “You have an admirer,” she teased.

Bucky’s answering grumble was louder and he muttered something almost totally inaudible, but Levi thought it sounded like ‘not the one I want’. He turned and stormed away, throwing irritably over his shoulder. “Don’t fumble like that next time, I might not be there to save your ass. Remember your goddamn lines.”

Levi couldn’t help it and stuck her tongue out at his retreating back.

****************************************************************************************** “Hey, you home?” Levi called, shutting and locking the door behind her.

“Where else would I be?” Came the flat reply.

“I don’t know,” Levi snarked, leaning against the doorframe and looking inside the guest room, now commandeered as Bucky’s ‘office’. “Maybe at the hospital finally getting that stick out of your ass?”

Bucky glowered briefly at her but didn’t respond and Levi snorted in frustration, pushing away and continuing towards the master bedroom, her bedroom

“Hope you don’t hog all the covers, doll.” Bucky grumbled, moving to stand beside Levi.

She glanced at him in mingled surprise and exasperation. After telling her to ‘remember her goddamn lines’ earlier, Bucky hadn’t bothered to say anything since, choosing to organize his ‘office’ like a bull in a china shop, swearing and muttering under his breath as he tried to make sense of the mess of equipment set up for him by the ‘moving company’. Some of it was for show, in case anyone ever wanted to see what a children’s book illustrator did, but most of it was uber-top secret; monitors and speakers and other such accoutrement to aid in their spying of the neighborhood.

Levi busied herself with organizing the rest of the house, making faces at some of the shit that had been chosen as their cover, including skillfully doctored and supposedly joyful wedding pictures; Levi and Bucky, no sorry, Jackson and Maddie gazing into each other’s eyes, dressed casual at their trendy beach wedding, sharing a kiss; posing on an empty country rood in cream colored fisherman’s sweaters and L.L. Bean Boots, the stereotypical ‘autumn’ photo set.

Thankfully, some forward-thinking agent had stocked the fridge and freezer, and with minimal burrowing, Levi found a frozen dish to reheat for supper. There was no way in hell she was going to sample Tiffanie’s casserole. It was probably laced with arsenic… or laxatives.

Bucky hadn’t commented beyond a grunt when she’d called him for supper, or rather, had poked her head in his ‘office’ and snapped ‘supper, asshole’ at him; and he’d been no more loquacious the rest of the night. Only once Levi started preparing for bed did he reappear like a damn whack-a-mole with his ‘don’t hog all the covers, doll’ comment.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Levi snapped. “You’re not sleeping in here with me.”

“Why the hell not? We’re ‘married’.” He made little air-quotes with his fingers.

“I’d rather have a razor-blade enema.” Levi growled. She pointed out the door. “The other guest room has a bed, sleep there; dream of Steve or Tiffanie or who-the-fuck-ever, just stay the hell away from me.”

Something flashed in his eyes, too fast for Levi to catch, then he whirled and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

“Anything interesting?” She called, pulling off her button-down shirt, wishing she could snap off her bra as well and fly free, but she didn’t want any snide comments from the peanut section, or even more strange, a long, silent appraising glance like she’d caught Bucky giving her every now and then. Still shirtless, she shimmied out of her pencil skirt and reached for a pair of yoga capris. Snagging a tank top, she headed back down the hallway, pulling the shirt over her head as she re-entered the doorway.

Bucky stared at her, his hungry gaze missed by Levi as the shirt temporarily covered her face, then turned blankly back to the monitor before Levi could see him ogling. She stepped in further and leaned close, eyes fixed on the monitor Bucky was himself trying to focus on. Her scent surrounded him, and he unconsciously held his breath, held in the involuntary moan that Levi’s proximity seemed intent on drawing from him.

“Not much.” He finally answered, staring directly at the monitor, his hand moved, tapping at the screen and bringing up a new feed. “Finally got one planted at 1411.”

“Good, the Kramer’s.”

“Yeah, whoever.” Bucky’s hand tightened in his lap and he cleared his throat. “What about work, you hear anything?”

“Not much, just the usual gossip. Did you start anything for supper?”

“No.”

“Why not? It’s after 5?”

“I’ve been busy.”

Levi snorted and pushed away; as she left the room, she threw over her shoulder irritably. “It’s not going to emasculate you, he-man, to enter the kitchen once in a while. This isn’t the Forties anymore.”

Bucky bit back an angry reply, embarrassed because Levi was right; he had dropped the ball today. After planting that elusive bug at the Kramer’s, he’d found himself caught up in daydreams as he sat in the office and monitored all the feeds. Dreams of Levi had stolen his attention, visions of her naked and glorious spread beneath him, straddling him and riding him like a warhorse; fuck, even just smiling at him the way she smiled at Steve. Jesus, it pissed him off, to be ensnared like this, a slave to his mind and body. She didn’t want him that way, and even if she did-

“Hey! Did you hear me?” Levi appeared in the doorway again, annoyance darkening her hypnotizing eyes.

“What?!” He snapped in return, focusing defiantly on the screen.

Levi sighed and there was such an edge of sadness in it that Bucky jerked his gaze up her, unable to disguise his concern as fast as he wanted to. But Levi didn’t seem to notice, and if she did, she didn’t believe it.

“We just got invited to a barbeque tonight, can you stand to be that close to me for a few hours?” The sadness was gone, replaced with a healthy dose of sarcasm and Bucky felt about two inches tall for making her feel that way.

He cleared his throat again before answering gruffly. “Yeah, sure… whatever.”

Levi rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm. “Fine, be ready in 15 minutes.”

******************************************************************************************* As soon as they were out of eyeshot from the Hayden’s backyard, where the barbeque was still in full swing, Levi dropped Bucky’s arm like he was on fire. Stinging from the rejection, Bucky attacked.

“You managed not to fuck up tonight, good job.”

Levi took a full step to the side and threw him a dirty look. “You too, although I’m sure if you’d smiled at Tiffanie any wider, she would have dropped to her knees and blown you.”

“Jealous?”

“Hardly.”

“Madison, Jackson! Welcome!” Another Stepford wife trilled, fake lashes creating their own breeze with each blink.

“Alison, thank you for inviting us.” Levi replied, working to lighten her voice and force a believable smile. Bucky’s arm encircled her waist and he extended his other hand at the hostess, another panty-dropping smile on his face.

Alison giggled and flicked a gleeful glance at Tiffanie before shooting a coy glance at Levi, who smiled vacantly back as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that these two women were eyeing her man.

Levi was pulled towards a cackling group of hens while Bucky was dragged towards the suburban male equivalent and for the next hour or so, they were blessedly free of contact with each other.

“Maddie, how are you settling in?” Tiffanie cooed; eyes drawn once again to the direction Bucky had been taken. “Jackson seems to be enjoying himself?”

Hardly.

“It’s great here,” Levi replied, trying briefly to emulate Tiffanie’s coo and just as quickly abandoning it, she’d never achieve that level of vapid. “Y’all have been so welcoming!”

Y’all??

Levi was almost pulling out her geometric black bob by the time Bucky found her, the tightening at the corner of his eyes the only indication that he too was as thoroughly done as she was. A wave of relief, yes, that’s all it was, relief, flooded Levi as he moved to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist, leaning in to kiss her cheek and murmur in her ear.

“Ready to get the hell out of here?”

“Yes.” She hissed back, lips brushing Bucky’s skin. His shudder of revulsion was unnecessary, however.

They managed to hold onto their smiles until they’d left the backyard, until Levi had pulled her arm away from his.

“Christ, I need a drink.” Bucky grumbled as he fumbled with the door key.

“You can’t get drunk.” Levi pointed out.

“So, it’ll be fun to try.” Bucky retorted, finally pushing the door open so hard it crashed against the wall.

“Whatever, live it up.” Levi grumbled, striding towards her room.

“Wait-“ Bucky reached out, snagging her arm, not even sure what he was going to say himself until it tumbled out of his mouth. “C’mon, it’s pretty pathetic drinking alone, stay up and have one too, huh?”

Levi eyed his hand on her arm before directing her hard gaze on his face. She studied him for a long beat, eyes boring into his before nodding stiffly. “Okay, give me a minute.”

Biting his lip to disguise his grin, Bucky nodded and moved into the living room, pulling open the liquor cupboard and selecting a bottle and two rock glasses. Levi returned, wearing pajama pants, a tank top and housecoat open over top and Bucky sneaked an instantaneous glance, taking her all in, from her graphite-grey pedicure to the cute little top-knot she’d managed to pull her hair into.

Grinning mischievously, Levi pulled something out from behind her back and brandished a bottle that Bucky immediately recognized, drawing a wide grin on his face.

“Where’d you get that?”

Levi had the grace to blush. “Might have ‘borrowed’ it from Thor’s stash.”

“Hand it over,” Bucky reached for the bottle of Asgardian mead and popped the cork, pouring two-fingers worth in each glass before holding one out for Levi to take; nodding her thanks, Levi accepted it and sat on the wide sectional couch, crossing her legs and leaning back into the sumptuous cushions.

Bucky sank down into the armchair opposite, resting one ankle on his knee and studied the amber liquor before taking a small sip. It burned in the best way.

“Mmmm, good.” He murmured, eyes flicking up to Levi, watching hungrily as she too took a sip, eyes closed in pleasure, head tipping back for a moment and smooth column of her throat open for Bucky to see. He looked away quickly as she opened her eyes, head dropping forward again.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be here?” Levi asked quietly, picking at a cuticle.

“I don’t know… we haven’t really uncovered anything yet, just a few whispers, nothing concrete.”

“Maybe there’s nothing here to find.” Levi’s eyes were dark like bruises in her face.

“Or maybe we just need to dig deeper.” Bucky countered quietly.

They fell into silence again, staring reflectively at their glasses and Bucky was hit with a sudden compulsion to speak.

“Levi, I-“

Levi inhaled sharply, something akin to fear in her eyes. They flicked to the wall clock and Levi suddenly stood, setting her glass on the table with a loud clink. “I forgot; I have an early meeting tomorrow. I should get some sleep, good night Bucky.”

“Hey, Levi-“ Bucky began, standing and turning to face her retreating back but Levi continued down the hallway, her door shutting behind her.

Anger hit him then, abrupt and hot; what? She couldn’t even stand to be around him anymore? Fine, what-the-fuck-ever.

The glass creaked in his hand and heat flamed his cheeks. Why was he so furious, and why was he feeling so disappointed at the same time? Fine, doll. You want distance, sure.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky and levi #bucky and lev #bucky and nika

29 notes · View notes

art-full-dodger · 2 years ago

Photo

RESPECT.... MICHEAL JACKSON.... THE BILLIONAIRE ....WHO HAD TO BE CONVERTED TO PAY FOR THEM......ONE OF THE GREATEST PERFORMERS OF ALL TIME....HIS ALBUM THRILLER ONE OF THE BIGGEST SELLING ALBUMS OF ALL TIME...HE DID DO PROJECTS TO HELP OUT PEOPLE LESS FORTUNATE THAN HIMSELF...BUT THEN HIS DOWNFALL ...ON MASS HE WAS ATTACKED BY A BILLION PARASITES.... SET UP AS A PAEDOPHILE THEY TRIED TO ATTACK HIM FOR MONEY HE WAS TRIED...A SCANDAL...ALWAYS A SEX SCANDAL WITH JOVOS WITH SOME FILTHY DIRTY FORNICATORS .... HE WAS FOUND NOT GUILTY.....BUT THEY HAD TO DRAG A GREAT PERFORMER THROUGH THE DIRT...THEY DO THIS BECAUSE OF JELOUSY AND SPITE AS WELL BECAUSE THEY ARE MEAN AND EVIL...ALWAYS RIGHTEOUS CUNTS ARENT THEY....OF COURSE THEY CALL THEMSELVES JEHOVAHS WHITNESSES..... AS WELL.... THE SERVANTS OF THE BEAST COME IN MANY DISGUISES KNOWN AS DECIVERS..... FALSE PROMISES OF FAME THATS THEIR GAME.... THEY TAKE ALL THE MONEY....THATS THE PRICE YOUR FAME AN OWNERSHIP SLAVE CONTRACT...... JESUS MEANING VICTIM....CHRIST....MURDER MOST EVIL AND HORRIBLE...... THE SHOPKEEPER AND HIS WORKFORCE WHO DIED FOR THEIR SINS...DIED BECAUSE THEY HAD TO PAY FOR THEM...... THEY IN TWO THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY SEVEN YEARS..... NINE MONTHS SEVEN DAYS AND ELEVEN HOURS..... HAVE LEARNED NOTHING MORE EVIL TODAY THAN EVER BEFORE....... DIRTY LITTLE PIGLETS AND FAT SOWS AT THE TROUGH ALL LOOKING FOR THEIR NEXT FREE RIDE .....PARASITES..... THEY ALSO GO ROUND MIMICKING PEOPLE AND CLAIMING THEIR TRIUMPHS AND INVENTIOMS FOR THEIR OWN LIARS DECIVERS FORNICATORS.....SERVANTS OF THE BEAST ......NOW THE PARASITES ARE BIBLE BASHING ONCE AGAIN .....A NEW SLAVE A NEW BILLIONAIRE IS NEEDED TO FUND THEIR OPPULANT GLUTTONOUS LIFESTYLE...... (at Somewhere on Earth) https://www.instagram.com/p/CiLTWOUt-UZ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

0 notes

brn1029 · 3 years ago

Text

Welcome once again, to another fantastic Morning here at the BRN!

We got the Rock Report, with great news for the George Thorogood fans, and some unsettling news about the Eagles

This day in music, We look back on David Bowie, Bruce Springsteen and Janet Jackson’s Pussy (cat)

The Good News break, lots of stories, but you gotta love this seal. And I’m not talking about the cool navy guys, I mean a real seal…and he saved a guys life.

And on our 5 Random Facts, Rupert Holmes STILL a Whore and fornicator, in case you were wondering, and probably has no idea that Columbus Ohio is the center od]f all things US. And what the dollar sigh USED to look like

We would like to say a big Thanks to the very nice people at Canna 4 Life for being our sponsor here at the Bone Radio Network! Looking for the best in the Valley? Canna4Life carries the widest selection of products and always has amazing deals! Come in and see for yourself!! The budtenders at Canna4Life love to help you save money so you're sure to get the most bang for your hard earned buck. Open 7 days a week!! Canna4Life. 721 6th Street in Clarkston.

Let’s rock this day hard and fast!

0 notes

forsetti · 7 years ago

Text

On Defending Misogyny: Ross Douthat Edition

Ross Douthat’s latest nonsense in the New York Times is quite the pile of crap, even when compared to other piles of crap written by Douthat. Here is my take on the article (Douthat’s article in bold.) One lesson to be drawn from recent Western history might be this: Sometimes the extremists and radicals and weirdos see the world more clearly than the respectable and moderate and sane. All kinds of phenomena, starting as far back as the Iraq War and the crisis of the euro but accelerating in the age of populism, have made more sense in the light of analysis by reactionaries and radicals than as portrayed in the organs of establishment opinion. Not one single person with an ounce of credibility thinks that extremists and radicals and weirdos see the world clearly because SEEING THE WORLD CLEARLY IS ANTITHETICAL TO BEING AN EXTREMISTS, RADICAL, OR WEIRDO. The ONLY way Douthat's statement makes any sense is if he thinks people with enough common sense to know invading Iraq on bogus reasons with zero plan on what to do after the initial invasion was a fucking horrible idea, were extremist, radical, weirdo.

This is part of why there’s been so much recent agitation over universities and op-ed pages and other forums for debate. There’s a general understanding that the ideological mainstream isn’t adequate to the moment, but nobody can decide whether that means we need purges or pluralism, a spirit of curiosity and conversation or a furious war against whichever side you think is evil.

For those more curious than martial, one useful path through this thicket is to look at areas where extremists and eccentrics from very different worlds are talking about the same subject. Such overlap is no guarantee of wisdom, but it’s often a sign that there’s something interesting going on.

A classic Douthat move-lay out a completely bogus claim right out of the block and then construct a whole argument on top of it.

Which brings me to the sex robots. People having opinions about the Iraq war and the European Union logically leads us to sex robots because of course it fucking does.

Well, actually, first it brings me to the case of Robin Hanson, a George Mason economist, libertarian and noted brilliant weirdo. Commenting on the recent terrorist violence in Toronto, in which a self-identified “incel” — that is, involuntary celibate — man sought retribution against women and society for denying him the fornication he felt that he deserved, Hanson offered this provocation: If we are concerned about the just distribution of property and money, why do we assume that the desire for some sort of sexual redistribution is inherently ridiculous?

If you use “libertarian,” you don't get to follow it up with “brilliant.” Never....fucking ever. As crazy as that juxtaposition of terms is the casual acceptance by Douthat of what “incel” means is even more disturbing. The idea that women in society have to have sex with men is repulsive on every level. That someone gives voice to this notion and give it its own term is fucked up beyond reason. Sorry men, women are not here for you to have sex with. Here's a thought, if men want to have sex with women, then maybe, just maybe, they should behave in ways that women deem appropriate enough to where they will give up their bodies willingly to them. Anything short of this is misogyny at the least and rape a the most. After all, he wrote, “one might plausibly argue that those with much less access to sex suffer to a similar degree as those with low income, and might similarly hope to gain from organizing around this identity, to lobby for redistribution along this axis and to at least implicitly threaten violence if their demands are not met.” Let me de-fuckify this statement because it is a Ceasar's Word Salad of nonsense. “Men who don't get as much sex as they want, think they deserve, need to band together to find ways, even through violence, to get women to fuck them against their wills.”

This argument was not well received by people closer to the mainstream than Professor Hanson, to put it mildly. A representative response from Slate’s Jordan Weissmann, “Is Robin Hanson the Creepiest Economist in America?”, cited the post along with some previous creepy forays to dismiss Hanson as a misogynist weirdo not that far removed from the franker misogyny of toxic online males.

I can't understand why the “mainstream” would find the unionization of violent, horny men hell-bent on making women their sexual subjects offensive. But, see what Douthat has done. He has already constructed his argument where the mainstream is the ones who don't “see the world clearly.” Since the mainstream has been pigeon-holed as not seeing reality for what it really is, then it logically follows for Douthat that their view cannot be correct.

But Hanson’s post made me immediately think of a recent essay in The London Review of Books by Amia Srinivasan, “Does Anyone Have the Right To Sex?” Srinivasan, an Oxford philosophy professor, covered similar ground (starting with an earlier “incel” killer) but expanded the argument well beyond the realm of male chauvinists to consider groups with whom The London Review’s left-leaning and feminist readers would have more natural sympathy — the overweight and disabled, minority groups treated as unattractive by the majority, trans women unable to find partners and other victims, in her narrative, of a society that still makes us prisoners of patriarchal and also racist-sexist-homophobic rules of sexual desire.

There is a lot to unpack here. First, Douthat uses a philosopher, in order to bolster the credibility of his argument. As someone with two degrees in philosophy, I can tell you that there are a lot of batshit crazy people with philosophy degrees who throw out outlandish arguments for no other reason than to be controversial and get their shit published in order to placate the Publish or Perish Gods. Second, having sympathy for how a culture views and treats groups outside the accepted norms like “overweight,” “trans,” “disabled,”... who have a difficult time having sex for a host of reasons is, to quote Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction, “...ain't the same fucking ballpark. It ain't the same league. It ain't even the same fucking sport.” Third, Douthat, a devout Catholic who has carried water for the patriarchy, for misogynists, for homophobes...for years now doesn't get to pretend he is worried about the very structure he helped build.

Srinivasan ultimately answered her title question in the negative: “There is no entitlement to sex, and everyone is entitled to want what they want.” But her negative answer was a qualified one. While “no one has a right to be desired,” at the same time “who is desired and who isn’t is a political question,” which left-wing and feminist politics might help society answer differently someday. This wouldn’t instantiate a formal right to sex, exactly, but if the new order worked as its revolutionary architects intended, sex would be more justly distributed than it is today.

Not only did Douthat use a philosopher to bolster his argument, he completely misused their words in order to do so. Notice how he uses Srinivasan's comment, “who is desired and who isn't is a political question,” and dovetails his own comment “which left-wing and feminist politics might help society answer differently someday,” as if they were one and the same statement. Every culture has their own ideas of what is/isn't sexually desirable. It has nothing to do with “left-wing” or “feminist” politics. Some cultures sexually value heavier companions, those with smaller feet, those with longer necks, those with fairer skin... We can argue the rationality of all of these but none of them are based on leftist or feminist beliefs. In fact, left-leaning and feminists would argue the fuck against these arbitrary sexual values.

A number of the critics I saw engaging with Srinivasan’s essay tended to respond the way a normal center-left writer like Weissmann engaged with Hanson’s thought experiment — by commenting on its weirdness or ideological extremity rather than engaging fully with its substance. But to me, reading Hanson and Srinivasan together offers a good case study in how intellectual eccentrics — like socialists and populists in politics — can surface issues and problems that lurk beneath the surface of more mainstream debates.

By this I mean that as offensive or utopian the redistribution of sex might sound, the idea is entirely responsive to the logic of late-modern sexual life, and its pursuit would be entirely characteristic of a recurring pattern in liberal societies.

Shorter Douthat: “Smart people reacting honestly to the arguments of a libertarian nut job don't know what the fuck they are doing but I, a dyed-in-the-wool social conservative does because of some magical reason that is never explained.” If you think placating angry, resentful, horny men is the way to utopia, I'm pretty sure you are either stupid as fuck and/or just about the most intellectually dishonest person I've ever read.

First, because like other forms of neoliberal deregulation the sexual revolution created new winners and losers, new hierarchies to replace the old ones, privileging the beautiful and rich and socially adept in new ways and relegating others to new forms of loneliness and frustration. Douthat's use of “neoliberal” was done on purpose and as meaningless as the term itself. What Douthat really means by this statement is, “In the past, men could do whatever the fuck they wanted to women, whenever they wanted and women had to take it because that is the fucking way it was. Now men can't do this and they are having a sad about it so we need to blame the women and those who support them instead of the fuck wad misogynists who were morally wrong 50, 100, 200... years ago for their behaviors.”

Second, because in this new landscape, and amid other economic and technological transformations, the sexes seem to be struggling generally to relate to one another, with social and political chasms opening between them and not only marriage and family but also sexual activity itself in recent decline.

“The sexes seem to be struggling generally to relate to one another, with social and political chasms opening up between them.” Holy Both-Fucking-Siderism! NO!!! The “sexes” are not having a problem. MEN caught up in an archaic belief system are having a problem-a big fucking problem. Douthat doesn't get to lay the responsibility and consequences of men not adapting to women's rights on the doorstep of women.

Third, because the culture’s dominant message about sex is still essentially Hefnerian, despite certain revisions attempted by feminists since the heyday of the Playboy philosophy — a message that frequency and variety in sexual experience is as close to a summum bonum as the human condition has to offer, that the greatest possible diversity in sexual desires and tastes and identities should be not only accepted but cultivated, and that virginity and celibacy are at best strange and at worst pitiable states. And this master narrative, inevitably, makes both the new inequalities and the decline of actual relationships that much more difficult to bear …which in turn encourages people, as ever under modernity, to place their hope for escape from the costs of one revolution in a further one yet to come, be it political, social or technological, which will supply if not the promised utopia at least some form of redress for the many people that progress has obviously left behind.

There is an alternative, conservative response, of course — namely, that our widespread isolation and unhappiness and sterility might be dealt with by reviving or adapting older ideas about the virtues of monogamy and chastity and permanence and the special respect owed to the celibate.

So let me get this straight, the problem with sex in America is because of feminists and leftists but, “ the culture’s dominant message about sex is still essentially Hefnerian.”? I've never known a single feminist or leftist who was not only okay with the views and attitudes about sex espoused by Hugh Hefner but who used them as the basis of their sexual ethics. In fact, it has been the direct opposite. Douthat's view of feminism and left-leaning is comical and beyond conservative stereotyping.

But this is not the natural response for a society like ours. Instead we tend to look for fixes that seem to build on previous revolutions, rather than reverse them.

In the case of sexual liberation and its discontents, that’s unlikely to mean the kind of thoroughgoingly utopian reimagining of sexual desire that writers like Srinivasan think we should aspire toward, or anything quite so formal as the pro-redistribution political lobby of Hanson’s thought experiment.

By defacto argument, the sexual revolution was bad so men trying to come to terms with how to really treat women as equals would be a misguided approach to the problem. We need to go back in time to when women had limited rights and almost none with regard to their bodies, their sexuality, and start from there in order to build a more perfect union where men get to get laid when they want by whomever they want.

But I expect the logic of commerce and technology will be consciously harnessed, as already in pornography, to address the unhappiness of incels, be they angry and dangerous or simply depressed and despairing. The left’s increasing zeal to transform prostitution into legalized and regulated “sex work” will have this end implicitly in mind, the libertarian (and general male) fascination with virtual-reality porn and sex robotswill increase as those technologies improve — and at a certain point, without anyone formally debating the idea of a right to sex, right-thinking people will simply come to agree that some such right exists, and that it makes sense to look to some combination of changed laws, new technologies and evolved mores to fulfill it.

Whether sex workers and sex robots can actually deliver real fulfillment is another matter. But that they will eventually be asked to do it, in service to a redistributive goal that for now still seems creepy or misogynist or radical, feels pretty much inevitable.

So, for Douthat, the need to address and placate incels is important but we shouldn't do it with legalizing prostitution or other means. What Douthat is really saying is, “If men cannot dominate and be in control of women, then any sexual solution won't be acceptable. Not legalized prostitution. Not sex robots. Nothing short of actual, real women being subservient to men will do.”

At no point in this entire article by Douthat are men held responsible for their beliefs, for their actions. NOT ONE SINGLE FUCKING TIME! “Feminists” and “left-leaning” people are the real reason behind backward thinking, immoral. egotistical men for behaving the way they do towards women. GTFOH!

15 notes · View notes